


Princess Daniyah and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Dragon

by Kitkatkimble



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney, Crack, F/F, NaNoWriMo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitkatkimble/pseuds/Kitkatkimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Princess Daniyah Sadik decides that royalty is for suckers and ditches her family in favour of a manic depressive dragon, two talking birds, her best friend the warrior tailor, and a longsuffering sergeant who would rather be doing literally anything but this.</p><p>Inspired by that one Disney blog who kept reblogging ask meme responses from me for no conceivable reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kingdom Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Scarlett Farley belongs to tumblr user littleaviatrix, and Rikke Hearthfire belongs to i-like-yoshi. I have stolen them because sharing is caring.
> 
> This is an ongoing NaNo project that is VERY unedited, feel free to give me criticism for when I go back and edit in December.

There are a lot of things that Princess Daniyah Sadik is not supposed to do, because she is a Princess and that means she has to do Important Things with Important People until she’s ready to throw her bloody glass slippers at someone. ‘Someone’ being her mother, since unfortunately, General Fatima does not understand that sometimes Daniyah just wants a day to herself. It doesn’t even have to be a day – at this rate, Daniyah would settle for an hour and call it a success.

She makes her way down the Emerald Corridor, which she privately thinks is more of a sickly shade of olive. Her heels clack on the marble. She wore them because they were loud and obnoxious, and she too is loud and obnoxious. A match made in heaven.

The guards down the corridor straighten when they hear her approach, but once they realise who she is, there is a veritable wave of relaxation as they slump back.

Daniyah does not command much respect from the guard.

Then again, she doesn’t respect them much either, so it’s mutual.

It is a bright and sunny day, because that is how these kinds of stories always begin, and Daniyah is bound by tradition. She skips down the steps, hiking up her dress and waving madly to the guards patrolling the entrance to the great castle. They seem to be sweltering in their armour. Serves them right for joining the guard, really.

Kul Tiras is a beautiful nation. The land appears to be caught in a perpetual summer, ocean bordering it on all sides and the sun brilliant against the sky. The capital, Boralus, is nothing like its name; it is busy and bustling, warm as the smiles on its merchants’ faces, and filled with a myriad of sights and spices and sounds. There is nothing boring about it at all.

At least, not to most people. However, Daniyah is not most people.

The market place welcomes her, the scent of cinnamon and turmeric enveloping her in a cloud of spices. There are merchants everywhere, people coming and going, buyers haggling and kids running around as if their lives depend on it. Which, for some, they probably do.

She flits around, gaze darting from corner to corner. She doesn’t stop for long; just to chat, to laugh, to accept an offer of tea for a moment. Soon, the tea cools, and then she’s off again.

There’s one shop that she does like to duck into, however, because the owner is a foreign lady. That had been the original interest, since Daniyah gets bored ever so quickly, and sometimes she wishes she could just get out and explore. Since she can’t, she settles for stories.

The woman – Scarlett, her name is, Scarlett Farley – is a tailor. She makes practical clothing, no nonsense clothing, clothing that keeps you warm or cool when you need it to and has just the right number of pockets. Much like the woman herself, really.

She looks nothing like the local Tirasians. She has dark brown hair, a terribly pointy nose, and pale skin that seems to burn easily. She’s got scars, too, which Daniyah has asked about before but never received a straight answer. Scarlett isn’t a good liar. But she’s good at evading.

“Daniyah,” she says, looking up. Scarlett doesn’t seem to realise that there is an etiquette when you speak to royalty, which is precisely why Daniyah likes her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m bored,” Daniyah says, and drapes herself over the counter like the cloth Scarlett is measuring out. “Amuse me.”

A frown tugs at Scarlett’s lips, but she’s nice, and just sighs a little and shifts the cloth out of the way. “Alright. Want a story?”

“Yes.”

So Daniyah drags over a stack of muslin and sits, and Scarlett puts aside her heavy-duty scissors in favour of a needle, and they tell tales. Scarlett tells her about the world outside Kul Tiras, where there are kingdoms and wars and countries Daniyah’s never been. She tells her about a city called Stormwind, a jungle called Stranglethorn, a wasteland called the Plaguelands. The huge stone walls of Ironforge and the dry earth of the Barrens. Daniyah listens, eyes wide, interrupting constantly to ask questions and demand details and, above all, have Scarlett show her proof.

Today, Scarlett tells her a story about one of her friends. Daniyah is familiar with the characters by now. Ev, the clever alchemist but hopeless mage; Ben, the caring hunter with two younger sisters; Oliver, Scarlett’s dead husband.

“So, Ev’s doing his best,” Scarlett says, hands deftly threading the needle, “but he’s… he’s not great. He doesn’t look behind him, just thinks whoever’s sneakin’ up on him is an enemy, and…”

“No,” Daniyah cuts in, somewhat delightedly, “he doesn’t.”

“He does. Fireball to the face.” Scarlett winces, and pulls the thread taut. “Our medic wasn’t great. I don’t know anything about burns, but apparently Oliver’s grandmother did, and she taught him. It could’ve been worst.”

“And then what?” Daniyah demands. “What happens next?”

Scarlett begins sewing. Daniyah watches her fingers move for a minute, fascinated by the movements, before Scarlett starts talking again and her focus shifts. “We go on. Ev’s shooting fireballs less now. He keeps looking at the poor man, ‘cause, you know, he set him on fire. Turns out the man’s pyrophobic. Fireballs didn’t help. Didn’t do anything for the rest of the time.”

“So you had no medic, no one to hold attention? Just you and Ev and Ben?” Daniyah stares at her and grins. “That’s so cool!”

“Wasn’t at the time.” Scarlett snorts, but gives Daniyah a smile anyway. “Glad you think so.”

“Your stories are always cool.” Daniyah slumps, resting her chin on her hands and pouting. “Why can’t I do that? Could you take me with you when you leave? I’ll hide in a ship or something. They won’t even notice me.”

“No,” says Scarlett firmly, but there’s a twitch to her lip that says, _but I wish I could say yes._ “That’s stupid.”

“So am I.”

And Scarlett can’t exactly argue with that, so she just puts the final stitch in the handkerchief and passes it to Daniyah.

Daniyah takes it and blinks. There’s a _D.S._ embroidered in one corner, and purple hyacinths up the side. Do they have some kind of meaning? She’s never cared enough to learn. Probably should’ve. Eh, doesn’t matter.

“For me?”

“Yeah.” Scarlett unthreads the needle and puts away the corkboard. “So you’ve got something to remember me.”

Daniyah holds it up to the light. “It’s awfully thick, don’t you think?”

“Meant to be used.” She laughs a little. “It’s not decorative.”

“Oh.” Daniyah blinks again for good luck, and then goes to put the handkerchief in her pocket before se realises that she does not actually have any pockets. “Ah, my sincerest apologies, but – ”

Scarlett grins and takes it back, before spinning Daniyah around and doing something to her hair. Daniyah feels cloth slithering, the weight of something on the crown of her head, and the feeling of blonde curls being held just an inch away from the back of her neck.

There’s a mirror on one side of the shop, and Daniyah peers at her reflection curiously. The handkerchief serves as a rakish bandana, the white a stark contrast to her brown skin.

“I don’t look to bad,” she says, straightening it and winking at Scarlett over her shoulder. “I could be a pirate.”

“Sure,” Scarlett says, laughing and shooing her from the shop. “If you want. Look after yourself.”

“I promise!” she calls, and dances off back into the marketplace.

She takes her time, because Daniyah is incapable of doing anything other than precisely what she wants to, and winds her way around the Merchant’s Quarter. The shops set up around the centre are eager to barter their goods, and Daniyah can afford it. She ends up buying a singing sword from a man with a beautiful beard, who promises her that it is talented and well behaved; naturally, she doesn’t believe this in the slightest, which is why she buys it.

She belts it around her waist, and it disappears into the folds of her dress. It clashes terribly.

Mood soaring, she waves to the nice merchant, and makes her way back to the High Court.

The royal palace is a looming affair, all impressive spires and beautiful murals and some truly stunning mosaics that Daniyah sometimes checks her makeup in. She doesn’t have much a fondness for it, honestly, and much prefers leaving to entering.

She strolls back down the Sickly Olive corridor, and turns the corner, before a voice behind her makes her freeze.

“Where have you been?”

She spins, grinning widely, and props her hands on her hips. “I,” she says, “have been speaking with the local populace at length, and investigating their satisfaction with their lives.”

General Fatima Sadik strides forward. Her armour is silent, despite the gleaming steal, and even her boots only make the faintest of thuds on the marble floor. Her frown digs more lines around her mouth. Quietly, Daniyah wonders if that’s why there are so many.

General Fatima folds her arms and narrows her eyes, if it were possible, even further. “You went to the market.”

“Yes, I went to the market.” She draws aside the folds of her skirts to show off the pommel of the sword. “Marvellous, isn’t it? I like to think that it was a good buy, but then again, everything is in the end.”

“You must learn to be more responsible.”

Daniyah rolls her eyes. Obstreperousness rises in her like a tide, as it always does when dealing with General Fatima, and she finds herself reverting to almost childlike stubbornness. “I don’t think so. I’m bored! There is nothing interesting to do in this castle, and it’s far more fun to go talk to people.”

“You could train with the guard.”

“A bunch of dunces, and I’m terrible with swords.”

“Find a weapon that suits you. Axes, knives, swords, polearms – there are many.”

She grimaces. “You know just as well as I do that that’s pointless. I don’t enjoy stabbing people with things. My deepest apologies.”

General Fatima frowns further. “You could take up economics, like your father. Do some studying.”

“Just because I like mathematics doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of my life dealing with annoying politicians and people who think that they understand economics – which, for one, I do not, and have no intention of learning. It’s _boring._ ”

“There are many more subjects than just economics.”

“And which do you think I’m suited for?” Daniyah folds her arms, unconsciously mirroring General Fatima’s posture, and tosses her hair over her shoulder. The bandana is keeping it out of her face nicely. “History? Too tedious. Geography? You won’t let me out of the city, let alone the country. Politics? I’d rather dance naked on the rooftops than subject myself to _that.”_

She laughs at her own pun, then shakes her head.

“No, that sounds awful. I’m not doing any of those.”

“Find a job, an apprenticeship.” General Fatima strides forward, and Daniyah is swept up in her wake, pulled along by the currents of General Fatima’s determination. “There are plenty of opportunities for you, especially given your birthright.”

“You mean, there are plenty of opportunities for people to doubt my abilities and assume I am advancing thanks to a few greasing of thumbs.” Daniyah jogs to keep up. Her mother is easily a head taller than her, and General Fatima waits for no one. “Sounds divine! Would you like to try, first?”

“No one would accuse you of that.”

“Not publicly, oh no, of course not. Can’t have the wrath of General Sadik coming down on them. You know they have a nickname for you, down in the Dogwater District? It’s wonderful, but I’m not going to tell you, because – and I know this is hard for you to believe – I am not stupid.”

Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, no, but she’s no bowling ball.

“Why do you constantly disobey me like this?” General Fatima stops, and Daniyah realises that she’s been led into the Weirdly Yellow courtroom. Oh, that conniving rat. “I want what is best for you.”

“Yes,” Daniyah says, “but unfortunately, you have no idea what you’re talking about, and I am not some spineless hunk of clay that you can mould into a miniature you, like Adalet or Noor. If I want to spend my life doing things I enjoy, then that’s my business, not yours.”

“It is if you’re spending my coin.”

“Actually, until you disown me, my inheritance and funds are entirely my own. I’m of age, you know. If it weren’t for your bloody rules and regulations, I would be out of here faster than greased lightning.”

General Fatima sighs, and takes a seat on a nearby bench. Daniyah remains standing. She is still shorter, and she curses the disparity once again. Yes, her father isn’t the tallest, but King Emre still has a few centimetres on her.

“Daniyah,” General Fatima starts, and Daniyah hears the thrum in her lower register that indicates she’s about to go on a rant, “you need to start thinking of your future.”

“I’m always thinking of my future. For example, I’m going to go out drinking on Friday, and on Saturday, and I think Monday evening. I might, if I’m lucky, get an invitation to one of those clubs over in Greenbridge Square, but I wouldn’t bet on it. There’s something weird about inviting royalty, you know? Even if she’s never getting the throne, it’s still odd.”

“I am talking of more important things than clubbing, young lady.”

“Don’t young lady me, _Mother dearest._ I’m not a child, stop treating me like one.” She holds up a hand. “And yes, I know how that sounds, but I think twenty-two really is a bit late for the teenage angst, so leave that out of this.”

General Sadik grunts, a frustrated noise of irritation. “Daniyah, we cannot afford for our image among the public to lessen thanks to the blatant indiscretions of a younger princess.”

“Oh, I’m _so_ glad that’s all I am to you.” Daniyah smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “And, I hate to break it to you, but this ‘public image’ of yours would be a lot better if you got off your frosted throne and actually spent some times among the people you call yours. You need to be personable, and I realise that this is impossible, but at least you have me. So stop shitting on the only PR campaign you have.”

She doesn’t give General Fatima time to respond, because she knows when to pick her battles – and besides, she’s never been one to pass up a dramatic exit. So she spins on her heel and strides away, taking courage from the feeling of the sword on her hip.

Of course, this is when she decides to trip on her heel, and nearly go careening into the floor, but she rights herself admirably and continues on her way. She is the Princess of Impressive Cover-ups.

The palace halls are empty, and she remembers that it’s the guard’s shift change.

Her room is quiet when she arrives back. Her heels come off first, then the sword, then her dress. The bandana stays on, even as she pulls a tunic over her head and fiddles with a belt. It doesn’t match, but then again, she doesn’t think it’s supposed to.

Maybe she should get some clothes made specially.

The thought is tempting.

But that’s a problem for another day, and she tosses herself down onto her bed to take a well-deserved nap.

* * *

Her days follow the same routine, most of the time. She sleeps in, she skips breakfast, she amuses herself in the kitchens until lunch, at which point she eats whatever the cooks can’t snatch from her grasp. Her afternoon is spent haranguing Scarlett, or sometimes getting a head start on whatever party is planned for that night. Her evenings are wine and sparkles and impractical dresses.

It’s a good life.

It would be _better_ if she were just allowed outside Boralus for once.

She sighs, bare feet cooling rapidly as she meanders through the castle. The marble is freezing, and it feels like walking on ice cubes, but she doesn’t want to make any more noise than she has to. She is On A Mission.

She pads down towards a quiet, unobtrusive door near the end of the Obnoxiously Brown suite. There’s a corridor there that leads out to a small pond, tucked away in a hidden courtyard behind the castle. She likes it, because there’s nothing but a wall between here and the rest of Kul Tiras.

Of course, it’s a heavily guarded wall, and a wee bit tall for her to climb given her… vertical problems, but it’s the hope that makes all the difference.

She hitches up her dress an inch or two and slides through the doorway. It shuts behind her, leaving her in pitch blackness. The walls are tight and oppressive, but the feeling of roughness against her toes makes up for it.

She fumbles with the lock on the door at the end, and then gives up and kicks it open, heel catching beneath the handle and, with a bit of effort, forcing the rusted lock through the crumbling plaster on the other side. Sunlight bursts through, nearly blinding her, but it’s worth it.

It has to be worth it.

She can hear the guards’ armour clinking as they patrol on the other side of the wall. She wonders what they’d do if she just climbed over. Would they care? Her parents wouldn’t, not further than the initial ‘What’s Daniyah done this time?’, she’s sure. Maybe the guards would be glad that there’s one more nuisance out of their hair.

She drops down beneath the lone apple tree, and crosses her legs, and stares at the sky as if it will have an answer for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am using two fanmade maps of Kul Tiras that are neither mine, nor canon. Credit: http://tinyurl.com/koxbjxs, http://tinyurl.com/pua2blm


	2. Merida Rides Away

There’s a knock on her door one evening. It’s nearing ten – Daniyah’s only inside because it’s raining and she doesn’t want to get her bandana wet. Were it anything else, she would probably be out drinking, although sometimes it’s hard to say. She could also be out eating.

“Yes,” she calls, “Who is it?”

“It is me,” comes the deep voice of her father, King Emre. She sighs, and wanders over, unlocking and opening the door in a smooth movement.

Daniyah likes her father, as much as she can like anyone. They have a mutual respect and understanding. She doesn’t bother him, and he doesn’t bother her. But they’ve always been more alike than Daniyah and her mother, graced with the same eyes, the same smile, the same mind, almost. They relate on a fundamental level, and as such, rarely speak.

He has his hands clasped behind his back, and watches her with a bland expression. She raises her eyebrows.

“I have some news for you,” he says, and nods inside the room questioningly. She agrees reluctantly and ushers him in, drawing out a chair.

Daniyah’s room is more of a set of rooms, rather than one, but she had someone remove the walls and replace them with beautifully embroidered curtains of thin white fabric. Windows span the walls, stained glass at the border, and cast mosaics of light onto the curtains in intricate patterns. It hadn’t been her idea – one of the glass cutters had been a mosaic artist, and requested that he be allowed to do some. She had let him.

She offers Emre a drink, and he accepts. It’s ten. There’s no one to judge them.

“So, what’s this terribly important news of yours?” she asks, settling down on the divan and crossing her legs. Her red wine matches the burgundy of the velvet. “Is someone dying? Has the stock market crashed? Are there warships on the horizon, because if so, I’m going with them – no offense.”

“Your mother intends to betroth you.”

“She _what?!”_

Emre watches her calmly as she leaps up, skirt whirling around her ankles. Anger bubbles, instinctive fury and helplessness and pure, pure frustration. A splash of wine sloshes from her glass; it stains the white carpet and blooms, red as blood.

“You’re not serious?” She turns to him, shoulders halfway back. It’s a convoluted posture – her hands clench, but eyes widen. “She’s not – she _knows_ I can’t – ”

“I do not agree,” Emre says. He sets aside his glass. “You are a grown woman.”

“Then make her stop!” she cries. “Tell her so! Who does she think she is, trying to decide this for me? She has no right!”

Emre sighs and purses his lips before speaking. His face seems more lined than usual, gaze heavier. He’s not looking at her. He’s looking through her. “She has every right. Arranged marriages are not uncommon. She asked Lord and Lady Kaeda if they agreed, and they do, and so you and Lady Yuuki will be betrothed.”

Yuuki. Daniyah knows Yuuki – she’s her best friend, kind of, sort of. If Daniyah had friends, then Yuuki would be her favourite, but since she doesn’t, Yuuki is nothing more than a familiar, if fond, acquaintance. They speak at balls, and Daniyah sometimes sees her pass through the market.

She knows it’s Yuuki because Yuuki has a pretty pink parasol that makes Daniyah think of lace and teashops.

She looks at Emre, who gives her something of a helpless shrug.

“This is bullshit.”

“Fatima – ”

“I don’t _care_ what General Fatima says to justify it, it’s bullshit!”

Emre stands. He’s taller than her, by a few inches. She tilts her head up and clenches her jaw.

“I understand,” he says slowly, “but you must understand that I cannot change this. Your mother does what is best for you.”

“I won’t go through with it,” she warns. “You can’t force me.”

Emre regards her with sad eyes, then nods and clasps his hands behind his back once again. He leaves, quiet as ever, and Daniyah is left to seethe on her own.

“Why it always about human? Bird make good husband. Just because you can wear pant.”

“Not now, Piglet.” Daniyah strides to the window and slams it shut, but not before two small birds tumble in. One is small and fat and known as Piglet. The other is tall and skinny and called Nugget. She sighs, then flops down where she stands, and lets the two birds sit on her head.

“It is I who is here it is me.” Piglet pecks at her earring. It’s gold and shiny. He always has enjoyed gold and shiny. “And Nugget. He is here too but not as here as me.”

Nugget perches on the tip of her nose.

“If there is problem, bird can solve,” Piglet says. “Unless problem is no bread because that problem I make.”

Daniyah sighs, and Nugget ruffles his feathers in the updraft. “It’s nothing you can solve. I just – I just need to go yell at General Fatima. That will fix it. Won’t it? It usually does. What if she’s caught onto my strategies? I can’t let this happen, Pig, I’ll _die._ Being married to Yuuki – oh, it feels filthy just saying it. I don’t want to end up like my parents.”

“I make good king,” Piglet says. “Vote for king. Bread for all.”

“You don’t vote for a king. That’s rather the point. Constitutional monarchy – can’t escape it.”

She pauses.

Perhaps she can.

She presses her fingertips together and rests them on her lip. There must be some way, some loophole that means she can sidle her way out of a betrothal. Something to make it ineligible. Are there actual laws governing this? Is there an age limit? Or is it just tradition, which is arguably the stronger force? You can fight laws. You can’t fight tradition.

Daniyah’s never been very good at fighting anything, honestly, and she doesn’t really want to start with the impossible.

Maybe… if she isn’t in Boralus, then she can’t be married, can she? No hand to put the ring on, etcetera, etcetera. So all she needs to do is -

* * *

“Daniyah, I’m not sneaking you out of the city.”

“Come on, Scarlett, you know I’m right! I can’t marry Yuuki, she’s so quiet and shy and boring, there’s no _way_ we’d get along. And if I spend one more day in the same castle as General Fatima, I _will_ be arrested for homicide. Regicide. Does it count if it’s two royals killing each other?”

Scarlett looks torn, much in the same way the thread in her needle is. Daniyah presses on, because she knows that secretly, deep down, Scarlett likes travelling. She just needs someone to prod her in the right direction. “And, listen, it doesn’t matter what happens to me. I’ve plenty of older siblings, I’m so far from the throne that it’s practically a join-the-dots puzzle to figure out what my placing is. If I run away, it _doesn’t matter.”_

Scarlett opens her mouth to dispute that, but Daniyah is on a roll.

“If you won’t help me, I’m still going to try,” she says. “But I thought you’d like the chance to come with me. It could even be the other way around. Teach me how to sew.”

“You’re rubbish at sewing.”

“Yes, but I’m willing to pretend to try to learn if it means I can get _out of here._ ”

Scarlett sighs and puts down the shirt she’s mending. Her frown tugs at the scar on her lower jaw, and Daniyah leans forward, eyes wide.

“If you’re going to run away,” Scarlett says, “you’ve got to do it right. None of this ‘sneaking out at night’ stuff, yeah? You need to prepare.”

“I’m great at preparing.”

It’s a blatant lie, but Scarlett doesn’t bother to call her out on it, because Scarlett is rolling her eyes and that just about counts.

“Look, you’ve gotta pack right, and bring things you’ll need, and make sure no one’s got a reason to come looking until you’re far off.” Scarlett whistles something Daniyah doesn’t recognise, and fiddles with the cloth. “I dunno if it’ll be easy, but if you know the guard routine, then you should be able to do it. Just don’t get caught.”

“I don’t intend to,” she replies, pushing away from the countertop. “It can’t be that hard, right? The guard’s pretty dumb.”

“I was a guard once,” Scarlett says, lip twitching.

“Yet here you are, no longer a guard.” Daniyah places her hand on her hip and grins. “My point still stands.”

She’s right, because Daniyah is _always_ right, even when she’s horribly wrong, which is most of the time. Scarlett seems to understand this, and with a slightly worried sigh, she smiles and relents.

“I’ve been meaning to go east anyway,” she says. “I’ll pack lunches.”

* * *

Daniyah does not, as of yet, know how she’s going to sneak from the city. She is, however, quite thorough in he preparations, and sets about learning to escape from her guards.

The first time, she ventures out to Warwelde Industries with her father. Emre is an economist by training and king by accident – literally; his older brother had a terrible run in with a large pelican and he was never seen again. So Emre took the throne, reluctantly, and very obviously wishes that he could simply go back to his mathematics and models and not have to worry about politicians and signing things.

 “It’s a profitable industry,” Emre says, looking up from the reports in his hand at Daniyah’s sigh.

“I’m sure,” she murmurs, eyes trained on the plumes of smoke out the window. Warwelde Industries, while indeed profitable, is possibly the most unsightly thing she’s ever laid eyes on. The smog from the factory chimneys spews out into the sky, creating a faint haze around the property. She’s not particularly conscious of the environment, but even she knows when pollution is reaching unsustainable levels.

Emre hums, and she thinks that he agrees with her.

She hasn’t spoken to her mother in almost a week, and it’s only because Emre agreed to take her out of the city that she’s speaking to him. Of course, she’s still planning to find a way to slip away from the guards, but Emre couldn’t have done anything to stop that if he tried.

The carriage rattles to a halt, and Emre steps out. Daniyah follows a moment later, her heels catching on the edge of the step and sending her toppling forward. The nearest guard catches her around the waist, and she can feel the eye roll. It’s become very easy to distinguish precisely when a guard is rolling their eyes at her. You’d think it would be difficult, with the helmets and what not, but no. Apparently not.

She has her own horse, because she is a Princess and Princesses, apparently, need horses. The horse is called Apples, and she’d sooner eat Daniyah’s dress than consider being nice to her. Daniyah has lost several dresses to Apples. She knows this by now.

Apples looks up as Daniyah moves forward, and continues to munch on her food, unimpressed.

“Hey, girl,” Daniyah says softly, and Apples gives a particularly ferocious bite. Daniyah hears the apple snap. (She was never very creative with names as a child, it must be said.) “You ready for a little expedition?”

Apples doesn’t move, so Daniyah takes that as a welcome. She swings herself up and into the saddle, and scratches Apples’ neck, before glancing around for her father.

“My lord,” she calls, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Emre nods, distracted, and she grins to herself and nudges Apples into a trot.

“I will accompany you,” says one of the guards.

Daniyah waves her off. “I’m just fine, really – I simply need to get some fresh air.”

“Nonetheless.” The guardswoman sits straight on her horse, and the set of her shoulders very clearly tells Daniyah that she has no intention of letting her out of her sight.

Daniyah huffs, and sets off, and she thinks she hears Apples let out an amused snicker.

Her second attempt is similar, once again taking place at Warwelde Industries, because that’s apparently the farthest Emre travels. She excuses herself, and asks Mister Warwelde (the Mister is important, for some reason) where she could find a bathroom.

“Back that way, off to the main building, down on the left,” he says, then realises who she is and tacks on a ‘your highness’.

“Thanks,” she says, and hops up onto Apples again.

That same guard – she recognises her voice, now – accompanies her. Is she onto Daniyah? Does she suspect something? If Daniyah were a guard, she certainly would, but then again, guards aren’t smart.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” she says, pausing to check the guard’s insignia. “Sergeant.”

The sergeant nods, and Daniyah slips into the bathroom.

There’s a window. Bless them, there’s a window. She kicks off her heels and hikes up her dress, and slips out feet first.

Except, of course, she’s forgotten that while _she_ fits through the window, her boobs don’t.

It’s awkward.

It’s really awkward.

She has two options. She can either yell for help, and have someone wrangle her out and deal with the embarrassment; or, she can sit here until the sergeant comes in and then have the same thing happen.

She gives the window a little push. She’s not fitting through, either way.

Her arm can’t quite reach, but after some truly bizarre contortionism that she wasn’t aware she was capable of, she manages to get one of her heels underneath the frame, and with an almighty crack she levers it up.

There’s a knock on the door, and she freezes, before remembering that it’s locked and she’s okay. “Are you alright, your highness?”

Oh, there’s definite scepticism there, and Daniyah pulls a face at the back of the door.

“I’m just peachy!” she calls back. “Thanks, doll.”

There’s a frustrated noise, and then silence.

She inches the frame out of the way, over her head and gently onto the shelf below. That gives her just the extra inch that she needs, and she slides through, massaging her chest with a forlorn pout. This is a story for the books, but she’s not sure her boobs will ever be the same.

She looks around.

Well, it’s quiet. There’s a fence. There’s a gate. She can just… go.

She meanders forward, and then feels something prod at her head. Something appears to be trying to eat her bandana.

She turns.

“Apples, you fucking traitor.”

But, you know what they say – third time’s the charm.

They’ve gone down to Daryl’s Vineyard for one reason or another. Daniyah and Emre are doing Sudoku in the back of the carriage, utterly silent except for the pen being traded back and forth between them. Apples is back at the stables, having been very firmly grounded after her previous stunt, but the sergeant appears to be with them again.

Daniyah is getting very tired of that one sergeant.

The carriage draws to a halt, rickety on the cobblestones, and the sound of pomp and circumstance can be heard from outside. Daniyah preens, and Emre gives her a bland look. She settles down, but keeps her smile on. She likes being noticed.

Emre goes first, because he is the king and that is what kings do. He nods to the crowd, brow heavy and gaze regal. At least, Daniyah thinks it’s regal, but it could simply be that Emre is somewhat allergic to facial expressions and can’t be bothered to change it.

Daniyah goes second, and smiles and waves as if she was born to do it. Which, she thinks, is true. She was.

There’s a small crowd, and the mayor comes forward to bow and speak to Emre. Daniyah, bored by the conversation already, winks at a pretty girl in the crown. She blushes and mutters something to her friend, who scowls. It’s cute. Daniyah gives them both a little wave for good measure, then follows Emre into the town hall.

“What are we doing here, exactly?” she asks the sergeant, sidelong.

“Politics,” she replies, and honestly, that’s all the answer Daniyah needs. She pokes her head through the rooms, then settles down in a little corner, taking out the Sudoku book again and scribbling through them, tongue poking from a corner of her mouth.

The sergeant disappears a while later, apparently sufficiently convinced that Daniyah isn’t going anywhere, which is wrong on so many levels but Daniyah isn’t going to tell her that.

She shoves the pen in her hair – it’s amazing what can be hid in that curly mess – and shoves the Sudoku book down her blouse. It’s amazing what can be hid there, too.

And then she just walks out.

She smiles and waves and chats to various people in the crowd, intimidating a few but quickly putting them at ease. No one is afraid of a flirty woman who trips on air, after all.

After exchanging a thoroughly riveting conversation about the state of the turnip economy in northern Kul Tiras with a man in grey shorts, she excuses herself, and ducks down a nearby alley. It’s dark and a little dingy, but as she scurries through, she sees the forest and budding mountains just to the south.

She follows the road, which eventually leads off to a little wharf and pier and the sweetest little fishing town she’s ever seen. But she’s not here to fish. She’s here to explore. So she does just that, veering off the road and into the bushy scrubland.

She goes further and further, enjoying the smell of the sea air and the feeling of _nowallsnostone._ She wants to sing, except she can’t, and she wants to dance, except she doesn’t know how to dance without someone else and without wearing six inch heels.

Then she spots a strange looking arrangement of shrubbery on one side of one of the mountain faces, and wanders in, eyes widening curiously.

There’s a cave, embedded into the side of the mountain. The shadows and the way the ground around it is shaped tips her off, and she rubs her hands together before pursing her lips and getting ready for some proper adventure.

She creeps closer, until she can see the faintest trail of smoke that leads into the mouth of the cave. It’s mostly shrouded in shrubbery, but there’s a gap just wide enough for her to slip through without being noticed.

Of course, Daniyah’s whole _thing_ is being noticed, so it’s not so much of a surprise when this backfires completely, and what appears to be a dark, empty cave suddenly begins to look at her. A slitted eye peers out from the darkness, and then something _moves,_ and a great hulking red wing covered in shimmering scales shakes, and fans out.

“Holy shit,” says Daniyah, eloquent as always. “You’re a dragon.”

“And you’re a genius.”

The dragon rests their head on one taloned claw. Hand. Thing. Daniyah doesn’t know draconic anatomy very well.

She smoothens down her hair, only for it to puff back up again. Daniyah doesn’t do dignified. She’s spent twenty-odd years doing the exact opposite, and it’s a bit late to begin now.

“When you hiccup, do you get flames come out?”

The dragon stares for a moment, then says, deadpan as ever, “I don’t hiccup, but you’re welcome to test me.”

“Fascinating. I wonder if any animals hiccup. Your scales are looking awfully dull, don’t you have any polish? Would you like me to shine them? I’d offer to black your boots, but you don’t wear boots – or perhaps you do. I imagine they’d be a little difficult to tailor, wouldn’t they? Poor thing.” She pats the dragon on the hand. Her hand is the same size as one of their scales. “I’m Daniyah. Nice to meet you.”

The dragon rumbles something, and it sounds like rocks falling from a hill. After a pause, Daniyah realises it’s a chuckle.

“My name is Mwenyekulamjimzuri,” they say, then drop their head so that their nose is just in front of Daniyah, and their eyes a little above eye level. “But you may call me Zuri.”

“Charmed.” Daniyah scratches Zuri’s nose, and Zuri watches her. Are draconic faces always this difficult to read? Well, so long as Zuri doesn’t eat her arm, she’s quite alright with that.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, because dragons are not exactly common in these parts. Then again, dragons aren’t exactly common anywhere, so it isn’t like there’s a lot of competition.

“It is warm here,” Zuri says. “It is beginning to grow cold, up north.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Red dragon.” Daniyah taps her nose. “And it’s really that much warmer here?”

“Yes.”

Daniyah moves to scratch behind their horns. Zuri rumbles, then lets out a strange purring sound. Daniyah half expects a small earthquake to erupt, but the only movement is the rise and fall of Zuri’s chest.

“So are you a boy dragon or a girl dragon or just a dragon dragon?”

Zuri’s eyes open ever so slightly wider, and the tiniest hint of a smile emerges. “I am just a ‘dragon dragon’.”

“Marvellous.” She pulls a face. “Dragon. Dragon. The word sounds weird now. Dra-gon. _Dra_ gon. Dra _gon._ ”

“If you’re finished.”

“One more time. _Dragon._ ”

Zuri settles themself, getting comfortable, and spreads a wing so that it’s out of the way. Daniyah, not one bound by _anything_ resembling common sense, quickly scrambles so that she’s perched on Zuri’s front paw – talon – thing, feet swinging and head at Zuri’s eye level.

The cave looks quite cramped for the poor dragon, so Daniyah jerks her thumb towards the entrance. “Do you get to fly around a lot?”

“No.”

“Guards, yeah, I know how that feels. Always watching, just waiting for you to slip up so they can drag you back in again.” Daniyah leans back and sighs. “Must be nice, having wings.”

“It’s alright.”

“Do you want to go flying?”

Zuri takes a moment to think that over, scales shimmering as their head tilts. Their horns are great curling things, black as pitch and stark against the vermillion of their scales. There are golden bands around a few. It makes Daniyah wonder whether dragons have their own smiths, or they just get some poor bugger to do it for them. She isn’t sure she wants to ask just yet, though, because there are a lot of things she wants to do but risk getting her head incinerated is not one of them.

“I wouldn’t mind,” they say slowly, “if there was not a human city within firing distance.”

“You firing or them firing?”

“No difference.”

“Fair enough. I’d like to go flying. General Fatima has these flying ships that can take you up in the sky, but I don’t know whether I like them or not. You may have seen them practicing.”

Zuri nods, and the ground shakes.

Suddenly, Daniyah has an idea.

“You could come with me!” she says. “Take me flying! Get out of here! I can distract the guards, I know I can – all I need to do is send a false message. ‘Come, there’s a damsel in distress!’ That sort of thing. And then you sneak out, meet me outside, and we can go flying!”

“It is very hard to hide a dragon.”

“So? They’ll never expect it.”

Zuri sighs. “I’ll think on it.”

Daniyah swings her legs cheerfully and grins at them. She’s giddy, so happy she could burst, and she wonders if she could convince Scarlett to come along. Scarlett’s a traveller, and a friend. Surely she’d want to, right? Even if just to keep an eye on Daniyah, because contrary to popular belief, Daniyah is neither blind nor deaf and knows how much of a mother hen Scarlett can be.

“I’ll see you again,” Daniyah promises as she slides down. Zuri raises their wing, just enough to let Daniyah pass under. “I won’t let you stay here, cooped up and bored.”

“Are you doing this for me, or for you?”

“Oh, it’s all for me,” she replies as she exits the cavern. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t benefit too.”

By the rumbling chuckle Zuri lets out, Daniyah’s quite sure they agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRAGONS


End file.
